Bang on!

remaking, things done to you
line up the things that you've done
all those things were somewhat true
or were only moments...

strange, how they collapse in the blink of an eye.
remind me that I've dodged another bullet
can you imagine that kind of life?
no, I should say not.

so: though I write about heartache
and I do all the time
i contend that it's all just content in the end
in both senses of the word.

content and occasionally: joy!
at not being caught.
and not being tied
and feeling a little bit foolish
for all the emphasis occasionally placed on them.

silly boy.

oh, there will be a time, and a place. and a someone
but if one rushes, clings, hangs on by toenails just for the sake of hanging on...
ah, that's trouble.
we can wait.

Threads unwinding.

Broadside, passing ships at sea
Last night, lying next to me
My head is full, things I'll never say
Again; and I've never said them anyways

Because every moment with you is a memory I've lost
I'm incommunicado and our stars have been uncrossed
You should never get too close to the one you think you love
Hands are likely slipping when you're standing glove in glove

Out again, alone and in the dark
Open shutters, seeking out a spark
Slipping into anything, easing into warm
Purchase or a hold where I could weather out the coming storm

Gaze across the room and seek out something lean, something smart
Winding up to make a pitch, trying hard to still my heart
Strike a pose and look for something that I cannot say

It's okay.

I'll be back again some other day.

The girl and her girls,

I can recall every word,
Every last stretch of her body
As she laid it out before me and declared
her preference.

But, she said,
and she smiled.

and the girl from norway.

When John awoke, and was alone
He laughed, and quietly declared
That he had loved the bird's brown hair;
But his intent was overthrown.

And so it passed, as all men would
While scrambling about for face
That he set fire to the place
And having done so, marked it good